


Kettering

by CirillaShepard



Series: Solipsism [8]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Hurt, Implied Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 02:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11282037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirillaShepard/pseuds/CirillaShepard
Summary: When a memory feels as real as life, it's as valid as life.





	Kettering

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER**  
> I do not own anything from the Mass Effect game series (unfortunately) but BioWare does.  
> Damn them.  
> I’m just borrowing their characters for fun when my muse grabs me.  
> 
> 
> * * *

_“Walking in that room when you had tubes in your arms; those singing morphine alarms out of tune.”_  


* * *

**.I.**  
White room, bright lights that flicker overhead like miniature bolts of lightning; the soft and steady beeping of a machine nearby that counts both breath and heartbeat.  
Muted alarms from elsewhere, a muffled droning that is there and not there at the back of the mind; the scent of something sterile and too clean that stings the throat and the nose and sticks on the tongue.  
Blurry-edged scenery seen through eyes that won’t fully open, smudged images that move like ghosts at the peripheral.  
A button press at the fingertip and blissful sweetly cold numbness rushing into needle-stuck skin; parched lips starved of water parting in a brief smile.  
Heavy eyelids drifting closed, a sigh whispering into the empty room.  
Blackness, silence.  
  


* * *

  
Gasping breath; a sharp intake of cool air into aching lungs that scream and rebel against the sudden use and a heartbeat that pounds wildly against brittle ribs like a war-drum.  
Calm, impassive faces loom into sleep-blurred vision and hushed voices carry unintelligible words and then more silence broken only by the continuous beep-beep-beep of monitors and machines.  
Limbs moving slowly, weakened and near useless; drifting over crisp white sheets as eyes blink-blink away the fuzzy edges of vision and images form as though tuning in an ancient television set.  
The whoosh-click of the door, another calm face and more long-winded words; only five of which stand out and settle into the still foggy mind:  
_“The operation was a success."_  
Instructions to rest, recuperate and take things slowly, then silence.  
  


* * *

  
**.II.**  
To: Commander Shepard  
From: Thane Krios  


Siha,  
I have been following the news reports as much as the doctors will allow me to.  
Things look desperate, bleak and I feel your pain and frustration despite you being so far away.  
I wish...I wish I could be there with you...  
I know that you may not be able to respond but I wanted to let you know that the operation was a complete success – my body has taken the new lungs as though they were my own. I am currently being kept at Huerta Memorial’s high dependency unit although I will be moved to a regular room in a week.  
Kolyat has visited regularly. He is yet to find a significant other, however he has made mention of your human custom of “dating” and has met several young women; although he has no interest in pursuing them at the moment. He says that he wishes to focus more on his work and caring for me. I feel such pride for him, Siha – he is becoming a good man and I am ever grateful that we have reconnected.  
Once the reapers are dealt with and things are on an even keel I would like for us to spend some time together – you, me and Kolyat.  
We speak of you often, he shares some of my concern about your mission; especially now we know that you are heading to London for the final push and I tell him that I have not felt this depth of emotion for another since his mother. He understands better now, I think and harbours no resentment towards me for loving another.  
I am glad of that, although I know that even if he did that would not keep me from you.  
Ah, my doctor is here now, signalling that it is time for more tests and rest.  
_Seni in'ava_ , Siha, I miss you. Come back to me.  
-Thane.  
  


* * *

  
**.III.**  
He stands, back straight and hands clasped behind him watching the sky turn from inky blue-black to cerulean tinged with fiery orange as the sun makes its slow ascent.  
Everything seems too quiet and sleep has eluded him for hours so he stands, looking out over the grounds of the hospital and shaking his head at the needless destruction that is still evident.  
  
He checks his omni-tool and sighs softly as he notices that his latest message has received no reply. He knows how bad the situation has become, he knows that the fate of the galaxy rests on his warrior-angels shoulders but it did not stop him worrying and it definitely did not stop his thoughts from straying to dark and negative places.  
  
The galactic news is white noise in the background, static interspersed with random broken sentences detailing the assault on London and the devastation that the Reapers have left in their wake.  
The old human idiom “no news is good news” sits on repeat in his mind; a broken record that stutters and echoes and grates on his nerves.  
  
His fists clench, his mouth tightens and his shoulders tense as he hears her name in the static followed by a sudden silence and then more static.  
His forehead presses against the cool glass and his eyes drift closed – an action designed to stave off the dull pounding in his head which ultimately fails.  
  
The door behind him opens with a soft whoosh and he moves his head slowly to look over his shoulder at his guest.  
His son stands before him, eyes downcast and voice quiet; every inch the reluctant messenger, the bearer of bad news that he suddenly doesn’t want to hear.  
  
He slumps against the window, finds his knees crumbling underneath his weight as he slides to the floor; hands pressed to his head in a futile attempt to block out his son’s words.  
His breathing is shallow and swallowing leaves a lump in his throat that makes him choke and gag. He looks up, obsidian eyes pleading with his son – surely he’s wrong?  
  
He feels many things now – rage, hatred and a deep cold numbness that wraps around him and cuts everything else out except the overwhelming sadness that leaves him empty; staring down into nothing.  
His heart is a sluggish drumbeat, his eyes burn and his throat tightens.  
  
His lips move in prayer to Kalahira and his son kneels next him, youthful strong voice taking over when the words stick on his tongue; his arm around his shoulder as he openly weeps for his lost goddess, his fallen warrior-angel.  
  
_“Kalahira, mistress of inscrutable depths, guide this one across the sea and keep her safe at your side until the water carries me home to her side.”_


End file.
